


When a Claim is Laid on a Living Soul, it Leaves a Mark, a Brand

by thisisapaige



Series: Thisisapaige's Suptober20 Collection [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Creepy Lucifer (Supernatural), Dark, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Lucifer Possessing Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Missing Scene, One Shot, Post-Episode: s11e14 The Vessel, Sad Castiel/Dean Winchester, Suptober 2020 (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26817709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisapaige/pseuds/thisisapaige
Summary: (For Suptober20. Day 4 Prompt: Branded.)⁂“Give him back,” Dean said.Because Dean knew the one who sat behind him. Sitting there, in the back seat of the Impala like, like he washim.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Thisisapaige's Suptober20 Collection [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950343
Comments: 4
Kudos: 83





	When a Claim is Laid on a Living Soul, it Leaves a Mark, a Brand

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Cas's quote in 6x03. I... think about it a lot.
> 
>  **Warning** for Lucifer/Casifer pawing at Dean without permission. Note that the worst he does is mockingly kiss Dean on the cheek. Lucifer also kinda sorta offers Cas's body to Dean. Of course, Dean doesn't even consider it.
> 
> [Me? Plug my Tumblr again? It's more likely than you think.](https://thisisapaige.tumblr.com/)

A beer run was Dean’s excuse to leave the bunker and to be alone. Once Dean pulled up to the convenience store-- the kind in the middle of nowhere, Dean’s favourite-- he shifted the Impala into park and stared out the windshield. There wasn’t much to look at but the old siding of the sun-bleached building and the empty gravel parking lot overrun by dry brittle grass. Baby’s engine rumbled. 

Driving usually cleared Dean's head. Baby's warm, familiar interior usually made him feel safe. Right now though, his head was anything but clear. He felt anything but safe. He couldn't process. He couldn't comprehend. The last few days brought hit after hit after hit and Dean just couldn't make sense of it.

There was no way. There was no way it was true. He couldn't have done it. He couldn't have wanted it. He couldn't have chosen it. No way.

No way.

Dirty water filled Dean's head. Maybe he could drown in the metaphorical ocean. Maybe then he would understand what he witnessed in that vessel beneath the sea.

Dean turned the car off, sighed, and leaned into the backrest. He listened to the engine ping as it cooled. Everything else was still and silent: no birds, no vehicles on the street behind him, no door chime of someone entering the store. The wind blew.

“Dean, Dean, Dean.” A low deep rumble, silky sweet and saccharine, sounded in Dean’s ear. “You look so…” The click of a tongue, followed by a high, happy hum, set Dean’s hair on end. “Defeated.”

Straightening his posture, Dean placed both hands on the wheel. He refused to glance behind him. He refused to startle. He refused to cry out. Dean clenched his jaw and fixed his gaze on the fading letters of a years-old advertisement peeling from the store’s walls.

“Give him back,” Dean said. 

Because Dean knew the one who sat behind him. Sitting there, in the back seat of the Impala like, like he was _him._

“Now why would I do that?” The voice was his but it was all wrong-- the cadence off, the syllables lilting and mocking. “He agreed to this, you know. You know how it works. He said yes.”

“No.” Dean squeezed his eyes shut, steadying himself. His skin crawled. “Not possible.”

“Really?” A hand touched the back of Dean’s neck. Dean shuddered. After a laugh-- wrong, all wrong-- the hand went away. “Then tell me, Dean, why am I here?”

“He didn’t know. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

A bark of a laugh made Dean’s ear’s ring. “Sure, the _angel_ doesn’t know what it means to be a vessel.” 

Baby’s well-worn steering wheel creaked under Dean’s grip. His knuckles turned white. “What are you gonna do to him?”

“Nothing. He’s just minding his own business. Ignoring the world. Resting. I get the impression you boys don’t let him do that often. He stays out of my way; I stay out of his. A beneficial arrangement for both of us.”

“Look, you're out. Just let him go. Fly off and find a different--”

“Nah, I don’t think so.” Hot breath slithered over Dean’s neck like a snake. “I like this body. It’s very clean, very safe. We both know you aren’t going to hurt me when I’m all up in your boyfriend’s grill, now, don’t we?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because…” A chin rested on Dean’s shoulder; lips tickled the skin of his temple. “Because you, Dean, shot me in the head. Because dear little Sammy locked me up in a cage for hundreds of years. Because…” A hand clamped over Dean’s shoulder, holding him in place as the voice hissed into his ear, “I hate you.”

“The feeling,” Dean said, voice breaking, “is mutual.”

“Good.” 

The hand squeezed. It was right on that spot. Right on that spot he gripped Dean tight. Right on that spot he gripped Dean tight when he pulled him out of Hell-- when he saved Dean. The mark wasn’t there anymore but Dean could still feel it, feel it branded on his soul.

“Don’t touch me,” Dean said.

“Why not? I mean, it’s the same hands. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you looked at them. At all of me.”

“You’re not him.”

“Oh, but I am,” the voice said. Not him. Not his voice. Not his voice. Dean shuddered when the hand squeezed tighter. “I’m not all bad, Dean. I could give you what you want. No hesitation, no questions, no doubt. Just you and your dear, dear, Castiel.”

“I will kill you,” Dean said through gritted teeth.

“No, you won’t. Not as long as I am him.”

It was his hand on Dean’s shoulder. It was his chin resting in the crook of Dean’s neck. It was his lips grazing across Dean’s ear to leave a wet, sloppy kiss on Dean’s cheek.

But it wasn’t him. 

It was Lucifer.

“Be seeing you real soon, Dean,” Lucifer said. 

The wind blew-- the sound of wings-- and Lucifer was gone. Left alone in the Impala, Dean gasped for breath. His body shook and his skin stretched too tight over his bones. The car was too hot, too hot, too hot. 

Dean opened the car door and swung his feet onto the gravel. He filled his lungs with cool fresh air. He willed himself to calm. He willed his shaky legs to hold him. He willed himself to walk into the store and shop like nothing was wrong. 

When he returned to the Impala with a bag full of whiskey-- beer wasn’t gonna cut it tonight-- Dean removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt.

In the shape of Castiel's stolen hand, a dark purple bruise bloomed over Dean's shoulder. Lucifer knew what he was doing. It was his little parting gift, a dark negative of Castiel’s burn all those years ago. Dean touched the raised edges of the handprint, aggravating its dull ache until he felt it deep in his core. It was like a mark on his soul. 

Like he was branded. 


End file.
